


Six Days As Boyfriends

by sitabethel



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: M/M, Thiefshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 17:43:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5057926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sitabethel/pseuds/sitabethel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In order to avoid talks of arranged marriage, Marik convinces Bakura to trick Ishizu into thinking that they're in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Days As Boyfriends

Marik took Bakura from behind. His ass pointed up in the air like a round harvest moon, and Marik couldn’t resist the urge to smack the pale skin and leave a blushing handprint. Bakura called out when skin struck skin, moaning in pleasure afterward. Marik stabbed into Bakura’s ass so hard that it felt like the bed was about to collapse - it wouldn’t be the first bed they wrecked - but Marik had no intention of slowing down or easing up.

 

Marik reached forward, carding his fingers through a skein of Bakura’s hair and yanking. Bakura’s head jerked back. He grit his teeth, growling, his hand fumbling between his legs in order to stroke himself. Marik always made Bakura stroke himself - because he liked to watch the careless way his white hand flourished up and down his ivory shaft before cumming onto the satin sheets.

 

“You like this?” Marik near hissed the question, his breath shallow and quick as he moved.

 

Bakura grunted confirmation. He never spoke in bed, simply growled, moaned, and screamed until Marik finished. Marik enjoyed it, the animalistic way Bakura behaved . . . although, perhaps once, it’d be nice to hear Bakura call out his name in a fit of ecstasy.  

 

Just the thought sent a jolt through Marik’s groin. He slapped Bakura’s ass again, letting go of his hair to grab his hips and pump harder. Marik’s toes curled as he came, his eyes fluttered shut, and reality spun away into an abstract notion that was out of reach to his senses. He sighed, slipping out and finding a comfortable spot on the mattress. They lay side by side, but they never did anything ridiculous like cuddle or pillow talk. It wasn’t necessary. Bakura a foot beside Marik laying still and doing nothing gave him more support than anyone else could with their arms wrapped around him.

 

Marik glanced at Bakura. He lay on his side, facing Marik. The lights in the room washed soft, soft ambers and ochers across his skin and hair, and he was beautiful. Bakura was history, and Bakura was art. He belonged in a museum, a headlining exhibit for the public to gasp at when they gazed on him, but instead of a museum he was hiding beneath a blanket on Marik’s bed. And why not? Marik had stolen him, afterall. Stolen him right out of Zorc Necrophades’ hands. The Shadow Realm wanted to keep him after the Millennium Items vanished into the darkness, but Marik knew the right spells and knew how to make heka do his will as easily as if it were just another Rare Hunter leaping at his command.

 

But, although he’d stolen Bakura, Marik knew that Bakura really wasn’t his. He was like a cat. One never owned a cat, they merely had the privilege of sharing a living space with the creature.

 

“You’re not asleep already, are you?” Marik asked.

 

Bakura grunted, not opening his eyes, but Marik knew he listened.

 

“Hey, Bakura . . . we . . . this works for us, right?”

 

Bakura opened his eyes then, warm, rusty brown. “Why?”

 

Marik tried to smirk. “Want to do me a favor?”

 

“No.” Bakura frowned. “You’re going to ask me something I don’t want to do.”

 

“It’s no big deal, really. Not unless you make it a big deal.”

 

“If it’s no big deal why don’t you spit it out?”

 

Marik sat up, staring at his fingers instead of his lover. “I need you to pretend that we’re boyfriends.”

 

Bakura laughed. It echoed off the walls and surrounded them. “That we’re what?”

 

“Come on, just for a week.”

 

“Like, holding hands and speaking civilly to each other? Why the hell would I want to do that?”

 

“I like how you think civility is something reserved for boyfriends.” Marik grinned, but then his smile faded. “Ishizu is going to visit for a week.”

 

“So what? She visits all the time. I’ll just crash at Ryou’s place like I always do.”

 

“No, Bakura, this visit is different.” Marik started fussing with his fingers, picking at his cuticles. “I turned 19 last month.”

 

“Really?” Bakura propped his head up on his hand. “You should have told me. I would have . . . given you a blow job or something to celebrate.”  

 

Marik shook his head. “I’ve never told you on purpose. I don’t tell anyone. That day . .  . I hate that day . . . but 19 is when a tombkeeper is supposed to get married.”

 

Bakura snorted, sitting up so he could properly face Marik. “Good thing you’re not a tombkeeper anymore, huh?”  

 

“Ishizu doesn’t understand that. I know this visit is just a change for her to try and negotiate a marriage between me and one of the girls that lived underground at the same time as us.”  

 

Bakura started laughing again.

 

Marik balled his hands, nails digging into his palms. “It’s not funny, Bakura.”

 

“Yes it is. Just tell you sister to negotiate her own damn marriage if she wants one so bad and leave you the fuck out of it. She’s not your mother - and if she was you still wouldn’t have to listen to her. It’s your life, Marik.”

 

Marik sighed, dropping down to the mattress. The brush of fabric against his scars bothered him, however, so he pushed himself back up. “I know I’m capable of telling her to fuck off, but you also know I won’t do that. Look.” Marik’s eyes found Bakura’s again. “I don’t think Ishizu is capable of understanding gay culture. When we were underground there was no such thing as sexuality. You had a duty to wed. You had a duty to produce offspring. Desire had nothing to do with it what-so-ever. It’s completely irrelevant.”

 

“Want me to explain it?” Bakura smirked. “I think I could get it through even her stubborn head.”

 

“No. You can’t. Even if I got her to understand that I’m gay - she wouldn’t understand why that meant I shouldn’t get married and have kids anyway. Because to her, they’re separate things.”

 

Bakura scowled. “Then how will playing boyfriend even help? You make it sound like she’s going to drag you back underground to get married if you like it or not.”

 

Marik looked down, his hair falling around his face and tickling his cheeks. “Because . . . I think - if I could convince her that I was in love, really truly in love-”

 

“Whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa!” Bakura held his hands up to ward Marik’s words away.

 

“No, listen. If she thinks I’m in love she’ll have to accept that I can’t marry someone else. Fucking someone else by itself isn’t a good enough reason because that’s not important to her, but love is. She’d never make me turn my back on someone I loved.”

 

“No. No. No. Nope. Hell fucking no. Nope. No. Boyfriend is one thing, but pretending to be in love - she’ll know we’re faking!”

 

“Will she? We’re already lovers, so I mean, it’s not like there’s nothing between us.”

 

“That’s lust.” Bakura scowled. “I mean, look at you, who wouldn’t fuck you?”

 

“Flattering.” Marik snorted, a little smile toying with the corners of his face. “But still, we’re also partners. I think that . . . I mean, that’s something, right? It’s not that TV romance nonsense, but . . . I don’t think she’ll know the difference, honestly.”  

 

“We were partners.” Bakura crossed his arms over his chest, looking away. “There’s no more Pharaoh, so it’s not like we can really plot against him anymore.” Bakura sighed.

 

“I’m sorry,” Marik whispered.

 

“I had my chance. I fucked it up,” Bakura muttered. “I can’t very well blame you for taking your opportunity to get rid of him through the Ceremonial Duel. His departure was supposed to cement your freedom.” Bakura snorted, bitter and harsh. “For all the good that did, right? Since we’re having this conversation.”

 

“I know what I’m asking is stupid. I know. But I don’t want to fight with Ishizu over this. I promised myself that I’d never cut myself off from my family again, but I can’t marry a stranger to make her happy, either. If you don’t do this with me, I’ll have no choice but to fight with her, and that will destroy me, Bakura. Can’t you see that?”

 

Bakura’s eyes drifted back towards Marik. He looked like a trapped animal. “Marik, I don’t even think I feel love. Whatever part of me that was once human died three thousand years ago and I spent all the time in between being more demon than person.”

 

Marik frowned, as if Bakura’s words were honed steel cutting his flesh. “But there’s something, right? Maybe not love, but . . . understanding? We understand each other, and I think that’s more than what some people who think they’re in love actual have.”

 

“Get Ryou to do it. All that cuddling and sweet talk garbage would probably turn him on.”

 

“I can’t pull this off with anyone else, not even your old host.” Marik’s eyes wandered across the room, lost. “If someone else even brushed my shoulder on accident I’d flinch and Ishizu would know I was faking.” His eyes darted back to Bakura. “You’re the only one I trust enough - physically as well as mentally - to try to do this with.”

 

Bakura huffed, crashing his head into Marik’s lap and sending white hair scattering like a blizzard. “I fucking hate you so goddamn much right now.”

 

Marik smiled, his fingers sifting through Bakura’s hair. “Does that mean you’re thinking about it?”

 

“This is worse than dueling your alter ego and getting my fucking soul sent back to the Shadows, you know that, right?”

 

“It’s just one week, and it’s no worse than when you used to pretend to be Ryou to manipulate his friends.”

 

“Oh god, this means I have to actually talk to your sister, and be nice to you. This is worse than stabbing myself for you.”  

 

“When it’s over I’ll feed you steak for a week straight.”

 

“What about blow jobs?”

 

“I’ll owe you seven, and I’ll start by rimming.”

 

Bakura made a sort of purring noise at the thought of rimming. “You have to give me at least one of them the week she’s here.”

 

“Fine.” Marik bent down, kissing Bakura on the crown of his head.

 

“Stop that. We aren’t boyfriends until Ishizu steps off the plane.”

 

“Just getting in character.” Marik smirk.

 

“I don’t know why the fuck I’m going along with this ruse. I don’t know the first fucking thing about being in love and she’s going to see right through us.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Since Marik only had his motorcycle, Ishizu and Rishid had to take a cab from the airport to Marik’s apartment. Marik paced outside, the cold biting through his black jacket and making him shiver. His heart clogged his throat the moment he saw their cab. He wrung his gloved hands, waiting for the car to pull to the curb and let them out.

 

“Marik?” Ishizu asked when she climbed out of the cab. “It’s cold. You should have waited upstairs for us.”

 

Marik hugged her and then Rishid, helping Rishid grab some of Ishizu’s luggage. “Actually, Sister, there’s something I need to tell you - before we get to the apartment.

 

Ishizu’s expression twisted in confusion. “Okay.”

 

“Come on, let’s go into the building.” Marik led them into the apartment lobby and to the elevator.

 

He usually didn’t mind the elevator. It was brightly lit, but with Ishizu and Rishid standing with him, Marik felt trapped.

 

“So . . .?” His sister asked.

 

“I-I’m living with someone,” Marik said. “I wanted to tell you in person, but I didn’t want to shock you.”

 

“Oh.” Ishizu blinked, trying to take in the information. “A roommate, or . . .”

 

“A-a partner,” Marik stumbled for words, choosing the first word that came naturally to his mind.

 

“A, like a girl friend?” Ishizu fished, trying not to assume, but she looked hopeful, as if maybe Marik did her job for her.

 

Rishid raised an eyebrow, and Marik knew that he knew what was coming next, but he felt sorry for his sister.

 

“Well . . .” Marik sucked in a deep breath and blew it out. “More like a boy friend.”

 

“A . . .” Ishizu looked confused, more so than before. Her copper forehead furrowed like fresh plowed earth. “But . . . you’re a . . . and . . .”

 

The elevator opened and Marik escaped into the hall. “Please don’t scream when you see him.”

 

“Well, this, I mean, I wouldn’t scream.” Her dress swished around her as she walked. “Although this is a little bit of a shock.”

 

“Marik, what’s his name?” Rishid asked, and again, Marik knew that Rishid somehow already knew.

 

“I’ll, uh, introduce you.” He took his key and unlocked the door. He didn’t want to say Bakura, although that’s still what Marik called him, but he knew that they’d assume that Marik meant Bakura Ryou instead of Bakura The Dark Spirit That Once Possessed The Millennium Ring And Tried To Destroy The World.

 

She didn’t scream. It was more of a surprised yelp. Marik almost shouted himself when he saw Bakura. He usually slumped around the apartment in sweatpants or torn up blue jeans - or naked. He liked to claim that clothing wasn’t a big deal in Egypt when he was alive, a shanti was often more than enough, and he didn’t see any real reason to start wearing excess clothing now that he was alive again. Yet he stood before them in gray-washed, fitted jeans that showed off his slim, lithe frame, and paired it with a cerulean sweater. Bakura had finished the look by pulling his hair back behind him. The batwings fell around his face as usual, but most of it stayed in the black band he used to hold it back.

 

Bakura looked . . . damn good, Marik had to admit. He had to repress the urge to push Bakura against the wall and start making out with him. Since Bakura never took care with his appearance, Marik found the look strangely appealing, and found himself daydreaming about what it’d feel like to slip his hands beneath Bakura’s sweater in order to tease his nipples.

 

Rishid cleared his throat and snapped Marik back into the moment. He realized Ishizu was staring at him, blinking with thick lashes, her mouth slack. “M-Marik . . . how? How is he back? How is he in his own body?”

 

“The gods gave me a second chance.” Bakura jumped in to rescue Marik from having to answer the question. Marik looked at him, still having a hard time thinking straight and not getting lost in how cute Bakura looked in his costume.

 

“And . . .a-and, you two are . . . are . . .”

 

Marik realized this was his cue. He set down Ishizu’s luggage and walked over and stood beside Bakura. Bakura took his hand and Marik cursed himself for taking his gloves outside because he was missing the strange, surreal experience of holding Bakura’s hand skin to skin. Even with gloves on, it was an odd feeling. A strange, but maybe not bad, feeling that made Marik’s stomach a little sick.

 

“Yes. Uh, yeah, we are. For quite some time, actually. I was afraid to tell you.”

 

“How - how long?” Ishizu looked suspicious.

 

This time Rishid answered. First he laughed, and then he spoke. “Pretty much since Battle City, Sister. Must have been love at first sight.”  

 

Not that Marik was going to complain about Rishid’s help, but he wished his brother hadn’t said it in such a stomach-churning, cliché way. He and Bakura pulled their hands away from each other, trying not to scowl at each other.

 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Marik said, taking off his gloves and jacket. “I mean, we’re together now, sure, but back then I was just manipulating him to get to the Pharaoh.”  

 

“As if.” Bakura snorted. “I was using you because you had information I needed and the Millennium Rod.”  

 

Marik was going to snap back, habit overriding his plan of pretending to be nice, but the kettle started to whistle in the kitchen and the noise stopped the prelude to their argument before they could properly warm up to it.

 

“Excuse me.” Bakura walked brisk steps into the kitchen.

 

“Me too.” Marik followed after a moment.

 

Bakura was near the stove, taking the kettle off of the heat and turning off the burner. “This is worse than I imagined. Marik, I don’t think I can-”

 

Before he finished the sentence Marik grabbed both sides of his face and snuck his tongue into Bakura’s open, protesting mouth. Bakura made a muffled, shocked sound, but then his eyes fluttered closed and he melted into the kiss. Their tongues licked and tasted one another. Marik never realized that Bakura had a mild, sweet taste to his saliva and he moaned into their kiss. When he pulled away, both their lips were dark and their cheeks a little flushed.

 

“What was that for?” Bakura asked.

 

“Because you look hot,” Marik laughed, wiping his mouth.

 

Bakura snorted. “I look like a fucking dork.”

 

“No. You look good. If my siblings weren’t in the next room I’d be tearing the damn clothes off of you - where the hell did you get that sweater anyway?”

 

Bakura blew air out of his nostrils. “Ryou. He helped me pick out a week’s worth of clothes for this little role play we’ve orchestrated.”

 

“Well.” Marik rested his hands back on Bakura’s cheeks, preparing to lean in for another kiss. “Maybe we should role play in the bedroom once in awhile because, damn.”

 

Bakura frowned, grabbing Marik’s hands. “Your hands are cold.”

 

“I fucking hate winter. Even with gloves and coat on I was freezing out there.”

 

“I don’t like you touching me with cold hands.” Bakura cupped his hands over both of Marik’s, bringing them up to his mouth and blowing hot air onto Marik’s icy fingers.

 

Marik grinned. Had Bakura ever done anything like that before? Marik couldn’t remember. Then again, Marik never really touched Bakura unless they were about to have sex, and his fingers were usually anything but cold those times.

 

“Am I interrupting?”

 

“No.” Marik jerked his hands away from Bakura’s mouth at the same time Bakura jumped and stepped back. They both stared at Ishizu lingering in the doorway.

 

“I . . . thought, maybe you needed help? You were gone awhile.”

 

Bakura grabbed the kettle, pouring still steaming water into four cups. “We’re fine,” he muttered.

 

“O-okay. Well, if you do need help. I’ll just be sitting on the couch.”  She disappeared.

 

“That was stupid.” Bakura frowned.

 

“No, that was perfect. What dumb-luck she picked that moment to interrupt.”  

 

“This whole thing is stupid.” Bakura set the cups onto a tray with milk and sugar.

 

Marik didn’t have the heart to tell him no one would use milk or sugar. It was almost creepy, seeing Bakura try to be a proper host. “I never thanked you, did I? For going along with the crazy scheme of mine.”

 

“This is worse than anything we ever did during Battle City. At least back then we didn’t mind if blood spilt.”  He marched into the living room, setting the tea down and taking a cup for himself.

 

Ishizu and Rishid sat on the sofa. Bakura sat in a chair. Marik decided to also sit on the sofa. Rishid stood up and moved to the other side of Ishizu as soon as he saw Marik so that Marik could sit near Bakura. Usually Marik sat in the chair and Bakura stretched out across the couch by himself, switching their positions felt odd somehow.

 

“So . . .” Ishizu looked around the living room. “How did you meet? I mean the second time.”

 

“Oh, uh . . .” Marik used to be an incredible liar, and he wondered when he’d lost his touch. When he lost his alter ego? After the Ceremonial Duel? Perhaps it was when Bakura moved in. He never had to lie to Bakura, always snapping whatever quip came to mind, and he’d somehow lost the art in the process.

 

Bakura, on the other hand, had lost nothing. He smirked into his teacup before answering. “Fate. You could say the gods delivered me straight into his arms.”

 

Marik almost snickered, but he drank his tea instead. When Marik had used magic to bring Bakura back, he had appeared in Marik’s arms, naked, freezing cold, and swearing at the Pharoah. Even after Marik stripped himself, and even after Marik turned Bakura’s chilly flesh into a hot, sweating expanse of white skin and slender limbs, Bakura still swore hate at the Pharaoh until the very last moment when he seemed to lose his words altogether. At that moment, he clung to Marik’s back until they both came while in each other’s arms. Marik hadn’t even realized it was the first time anyone had ever touched his scars until the next morning when he had a chance to think about it.

 

“And when did you realize you were in love?” Ishizu asked, a timid smile playing on her face. Marik could tell that his plan was working, the thought of love was enough to make his sister overlook their gender (or arranged-marriage plans) and focus on them instead.

 

Bakura pretended to think about it. The softest, palest shade of pink Marik had ever seen in his life highlighted Bakura’s cheekbones. Marik knew Ryou got upset when Yugi and the others told stories that they thought Ryou was there for - when it was actually the Spirit - but Marik was going to have to explain to Ryou just how amazing Bakura was at pretending to be nice. If Marik didn’t know better he himself would have wondered what happened to Bakura, and why a real human being was sitting in their living room and drinking tea in Bakura’s body.

 

Bakura stared at his tea to avoid the rest of them. “It was at the pier. We were standing there and talking. Marik was being annoying as always and I wanted to slap the fuck out of him, but I realized I wouldn’t. I realized I’d chop off my own hand before I’d raise it against him.”

 

“That’s sweet.” Ishizu sighed, forgetting to be offended by the fact that Bakura not only swore, but insinuated that he wanted to slap her little brother. “What about you Marik?”

 

“Uh, I, well . . .” Marik paused, mind racing to toss together some story. He should have scripted some of the more obvious questions. Why the hell hadn’t he? Instead, he decided to wing it and say whatever came to mind. “When I gave my Rod to the Pharaoh, after the Battle City Tournament.” Marik sighed, forgetting that he was acting as he remembered that moment. The thrill of elation because he felt like the weight of destiny was finally off of him, but at the same time . . . “I remember giving up Ra easily, and then I handed over the Rod, but I was still holding the Ring.” Marik mimicked the action with his tea cup, holding it against his stomach. “Part of me realized I didn’t want to let go of it - not because of the power it contained, but because of the person it contained . . .”  

 

Dizziness rushed over Marik’s thoughts. Had he made that up? Or had that been the moment that Marik realized he didn’t ever truly want to break his partnership with the dark spirit? Marik wasn’t even sure himself, although he tried to convince himself he was just a good actor.

 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Ishizu frowned. “Maybe we could have helped.”

 

“You couldn’t have helped.” Bakura shook his head.

 

Ishizu nodded, and Marik wasn’t quite sure he liked the empathy in her eyes. “I suppose we did all have certain roles fate needed us to play.”

 

“Yes, like happy little pawns.”  

 

“I like to hold a less cynic view.”

 

“And I’m sure it helps you sleep at night.” Bakura stood up, collecting the tea cups and taking the tray back into the kitchen.

 

Marik shrugged after he left. “It’s a sore point with him still.”

 

Ishizu raised a dark eyebrow. “Because he lost?”

 

Marik frowned. “Because his people never got justice.”

 

“Surly they crossed over.”  

 

Bakura re-entered the living room. He stared at them and the furniture as if he wasn’t sure what to do with it all, but after a moment he sighed and sat back down.

 

Rishid seemed to sense his discomfort. “Why don’t we play cards? We could play teams.”  

 

“That’s a good idea,” Ishizu said.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t. Neither Marik nor Bakura were capable of playing a card game together without yelling at each other.  Win or lose, the mocked and ridiculed each decision the other made. Marik jabbed his finger towards a trap card.

 

“Bakura, do you even read the subscripts? That won’t work.”

 

“Yeah it can.”

 

“No, it cannot.” Ishizu sighed. “Marik’s right.”  

 

“No one asked your opinion.”

 

“Bakura,” Marik growled between gritted teeth when Bakura snapped at Ishizu.

 

Bakura mirrored him, same growl, same clenched teeth, same balled up fists. “Well, stop scrutinizing everything I do so I can play.”

 

“It’s not scrutinizing - it’s called reading subscripts to find out what the card does.”

 

Ishizu’s voice broke through their debate. “Maybe we should play something else?”

 

“We’re fine!” Bakura and Marik both snapped at the same time.

 

They stopped and looked at each other for a moment, faces tense with frustration and eyes gleaming with the need to argue.  Then Bakura did something weird. He leaned forward and pecked Marik on the forehead. It was the most non-sexual thing he’d ever done to Marik, and Marik jerked back as if slapped, holding the spot on his forehead where he felt the lingering ghost of Bakura’s kiss. His hand balled into a fist again. He was going to punch the bastard, but then Bakura started laughing. That familiar, evil cackle that he used when he felt dramatic, and it reminded Marik that they were supposed to be acting and that Bakura was keeping in character again. Marik exhaled, all his frustration flushing out of him.

 

A brilliant idea hit Marik at that moment. He rested his head on Bakura’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for snapping at you, Bakura.”

 

Bakura choked. It was a better reaction that Marik had hoped, seeing Bakura sputter at the apology.

 

“Do you need a drink?” Rishid offered.

 

He stood up, ridding himself of Marik’s head from his shoulder in the process. “Excuse me. Marik, play for me.”

 

He vanished to the kitchen and a moment later they heard the tea kettle whistling. Marik smiled, thinking about how he could get really used to Bakura making tea throughout the day. Marik usually made it himself. Then again, he never offered to share with Bakura, perhaps he should. They didn’t have to be real boyfriends to make tea for each other now and then.

 

Bakura took a while. Marik assumed he was calming down from their spat. When he returned, he had the tea tray again, no sugar or milk this time.

 

Marik smiled when he took a cup. “Thanks.”

 

Bakura grunted in response.

 

“You won,” Rishid said.

 

Marik snorted. “You mean I won as soon as he got out of my way.”

 

“Using Dark Necrofear.” Rishid smiled and Bakura chuckled.

 

“We should treat you to dinner.” Ishizu spoke before either Marik or Bakura could argue again.

 

“Thanks but, let's eat here instead. “

 

“Of course not. I insist.” Ishizu stood up and grabbed her bag. “Where should we go?”

 

Marik and Bakura looked at each other. They never went out. They offered a lot of take-out, but that wasn't the same.  Going to a restaurant was too much like a date for Marik's taste.

 

“That sushi place?”

 

“What sushi place?”

 

“The one Ryou dragged us to that one time.”

 

Marik thought a moment. “Yeah, that place was good. Let me call a cab, though. It's too cold to walk.”

 

They swaddled themselves in gloves, scarves, and coats before they left. Bakura hooked his arm with Marik’s to escort him to the elevator and stood pressed beside him as they descended. Again, Marik wished the weather didn’t demand so many layers. Bakura’s casual touch was amusing, and it would have been nice to feel their skin brushing together.

 

Bakura held the cab door open for everyone, and the restaurant door, and he even pulled back Marik’s chair for him to sit down. As the evening progressed, two thoughts prevaded Marik Ishtar’s mind.

 

Bakura was way too damn good at roleplaying.

 

Marik was starting to look forward to all those blowjobs he owed Bakura.

 

Maybe because it reminded him of the old days - them working together to manipulate everyone for their own goals. Maybe it was simply the adept way Bakura handled the situation. Whatever the reason, their boyfriend act was turning Marik on. He found himself running his foot up Bakura’s calf as they sat next to each other at the table. More than once that haunting of pink Marik had seen earlier returned to Bakura’s cheeks as Marik caressed him or fed Bakura sashimi from his plate.  

 

Marik forgot to monitor his sister for reactions. He kept track with the general conversations, but became too lost in his and Bakura’s game to remember why they played to begin with.

 

“You know,” Ishizu said when the returned home, “Rishid and I should get a hotel room.”

 

“I already bought an air mattress,” Marik said. “I figured you and Rishid can take the bed while Bakura and I crash in the living room.”

 

“We don’t want to impose.”

 

Marik shook his head. “You’ve never stayed at a hotel before.”

 

Bakura sighed. He looked exhausted. “It’s fine.”

 

“Are you sure? We don’t mind.”

 

Bakura made a dismissive gesture with his hand, and then went into his kitchen hide-a-way to make tea. After they each had a cup, Ishizu and Rishid retreated to the bedroom, leaving Marik and Bakura alone.

Marik crawled into Bakura’s lap, a predatory grin enhanced his features. “Bakura, grab your coat.”

 

Bakura frowned. “Why?”

 

Marik gave him a sarcastic laugh. “Because I want to go on a romantic, moonlit walk.”

 

“Marik, go away. I’m pissed off at you for talking me into this nonsense and want to go to sleep.”

 

Marik poked Bakura’s chest. “Get your coat. I promise to make this worth your while.”

 

“I doubt it.” Bakura snorted in disbelief even as he grabbed his scarf.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They broke into the apartments’ maintenance room. The landlord kept the heater low in the hallways, so they shook a little, but that wasn’t going to deter Marik.

 

Bakura scowled at him. “Okay. I opened the door. Why are we here? There’s nothing good to steal-”

 

Marik smashed their mouths together. He tore off their jackets and then used his tongue to deepen the kiss with Bakura.

 

“What’s gotten into you?” Bakura asked as Marik slipped his hands beneath Bakura’s sweater, and started squeezing his nipples.

 

“I want you,” Marik growled into Bakura’s ears.

 

Bakura snorted laughter. “What? Is holding hands some kind of kink you’ve been suppresing all this time?”

 

“Shut-up. You looked fucking hot today. I”ve wanted to fuck your brains out since I saw you this afternoon.”

 

Bakura chortled at Marik, but kicked off his shoes at the same time. Marik double checked to make sure the storage closet was locked from the inside, and then he and Bakura stripped, chucking their clothes on top of a crate. Marik plucked two single packets of lube from his pants pocket.

 

“When did you get those?” Bakura asked. They usually kept a giant bottle with a pump near their bed (stashed away somewhere safe for his sister’s visit). Bakura hoisted himself up onto the workbench shoved into the corner of the little room.

 

“My secret.” Marik winked at him, hooking two lube-slick fingers into Bakura’s entrance and waiting a moment to give his inner muscles time to relax.

 

Bakura rolled his eyes. On any given day the gesture would have annoyed Marik, but for some reason Bakura looked cute doing it at that moment, and Marik leaned in to kiss him. Bakura leaned into it automatically and their lips played against each other as Marik continued to stretch him. His other hand floated up and settled on Bakura’s chest.

 

His thumb traced along the contours of Bakura’s body. Each brush of skin added to Marik’s arousal. He’d intended to make their tryst hard and quick before anyone could realized they’d snuck away, but now that he had Bakura alone, naked, white legs framing Marik’s hips, he found that he didn’t want to rush. He prepared Bakura for far too long, using it as an excuse to caress his body for longer than normal. When Marik finally did pull with fingers away, it was to wrap them around Bakura's cock, teasing him until squirmed and whined in Marik’s hold.

 

“More,” Bakura finally whispered, his voice desperate. “Mmmmm-” The second word evaporated from Bakura’s lips before it could form.

 

Marik handed Bakura the second packet of lube, making him coat Marik’s cock with the cold gel. Bakura didn’t argue. He tore at the cardboard packet with his teeth, careful not to get anything in his mouth, and then squeezed out the contents over Marik’s hot, twitching skin. Bakura kept his grip on Marik’s cock and aligned Marik’s head with Bakura’s asshole.

 

Bakura’s body opened up to Marik’s thrust like a portal to another world, a world of heat and tightness. Bakura grabbed Marik with arms and legs both at once, bringing their bodies close together and taking Marik’s breath away. Marik’s heart fluttered in his chest. He reached up and pulled away the black tie restricting Bakura’s hair. Bakura’s white mane spilled free and the sight of it falling down to Bakura’s white shoulders made Marik’s cock twitch with desire even as it rammed against Bakura’s prostate and made him moan.

 

“Thank you,” Marik whispered into Bakura’s ear as he thought of everything Bakura had said and did to help convince Ishizu that they were more than just fuck buddies. “Thank you.”

 

By the way Bakura pawed at Marik's shoulders Marik could tell that Bakura wanted Marik to stop talking and fuck harder. Marik obliged him, hiking a foot onto a toolbox for better leverage. Bakura tossed his head back, groaning, almost purring in the dark suede voice of his that Marik loved to listen to whether it was during a fight or in the bedroom.

 

Though Bakura looked more than satisfied, Marik still wanted to do something to show Bakura how much Bakura getting his back - yet again - truly meant something. Marik wasn’t sure how to express himself, until Bakura reached between them in order to touch himself.

 

At that instant Marik thought why not. Bakura never complained about stroking himself, but he'd really earned a night where Marik treated him somehow, and what better way that fully making Bakura cum.

 

Marik glided his hand on top of Bakura's, easing Bakura's fingers away. Bakura grunted in protest, but Marik whispered shhhh into Bakura's ear as he started to slip his lube-slick hand up and down Bakura's shaft.  “I got you,” Marik whispered.

 

Bakura's eyes grew round, dark and glazed with lust. “Oh.” The breath barely left his mouth as he whispered the single syllable. His eyes lost all focus, lids dropping halfway as he leaned back with elbows propped against the desk. He allowed Marik to take full control of the situation, lips parted, panting, moaning with pleasure as Marik guided him towards the edge.

 

And it was erotic, so erotic, and Marik wondered what he'd been doing the last few years denying himself to pleasure of watching Bakura unravel at Marik's own hand?

 

Bakura's eyes closed and he held his breath, chest straining. The sight combined with the clenching warmth of Bakura around Marik's cock was all it took to hurl Marik over the edge at the same time that Bakura climaxed.

 

Bakura didn't remove his legs from around Marik's waist, not at first. He leaned into Marik, wrapping his arms back around Marik's neck to pull them close again. “You want a shower?”

 

Marik smiled. “You know I do.”

 

They untangled and dressed and snuck out of the utility closet and back to Marik's apartment.  Showers were the intimate exception to their otherwise casual relationship. Bakura didn't hide the fact that he enjoyed washing and drying Marik's back. Once Marik asked him why, and Bakura responded with because I can.

 

It made sense. Bakura gave Marik free reign of his body in the bedroom. It was only in the shower, fingers kneading and caressing Marik's scars, that Marik could give Bakura similar power. No one else could even touch Marik's back. His stomach still revolted when he thought about the Pharaoh’s eyes reading Marik like a scroll. But with Bakura it was different . . . it was a wanted touch . . . it was attention Marik needed but trusted no one else to give him.

 

Sometimes, especially if his skin was damp with sweat, Marik's scars ached like they had when they were new. Nothing helped, not lotions or cream or expensive satin sheets. The only thing, the only damn thing, that ever seemed to help was a shower - especially with Bakura making sure every centimeter was properly washed, dried, and pampered.

 

Even with lamps, Bakura managed to stub his toe on the coffee table.

 

“Fuck,” Bakura swore.

 

Marik laughed, and Bakura scoffed at him.

 

“Quiet, idiot. If you wake them up then I'm not getting in the shower with you.”

 

Marik snorted, recognizing the empty threat for what it was. He grabbed Bakura's arm and dragged him to the bathroom. It started like all their other showers, Bakura swirling his fingers against soapy, marked skin and Marik writhing at the touch. But just before they finished, Bakura leaned in and dragged his lips across Marik's wet skin.  

 

Marik sucked in a sharp breath, leaning against the wall and bracing himself with both hands. “B-b-bakura?”

 

“Hmmm?” he asked, lips still teasing Marik's back.

 

“Wh-what are you doing?”

 

“Staying in character.”

 

“That’s okay.” Marik panted, unable to help it. Bakura’s lips ignited sparks across Marik’s skin and inside his belly. “It’s not like they can see us in the shower.”

 

“Oh but Marik.” Bakura paused to kiss him more, still caressing with his fingers at the same time. “We have to stay in character at all times or we might slip in front of them.”  

 

“Ah - you - ah - asshole-”

 

“Is that a request?” Bakura dropped as if to lick Marik’s asshole.

 

“Don’t you dare.” Marik turned around so Bakura couldn’t reach his derriere. “I’ll make too much noise.”

 

Bakura laughed at him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They were at the museum. Ishizu was catching up with acquaintances she knew that worked there. Ryou also worked at the museum and he stood beside Marik as they watched a Bakura who did not look like Bakura.

 

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Ryou asked.

 

Bakura stood off in a shadowy corner, playing videogames on his cellphone, growling when he did poorly. He hair was hidden within a black slouchy cap except for stray wisps, and his long-sleeved black shirt and skinny jeans made him look rail thin. A mauve, jade, and mustard yellow striped scarf added a little color to the otherwise bleak artist look.

 

“How the hell did you convince him to buy that get up?”

 

“We take our RP’s seriously, Marik.” Ryou cupped his hands over his mouth. “Hey Bakura? Quest one of seven complete - 3,500 experience points.”

 

Bakura snorted, ignoring them and focusing on his game.

 

“He’s been holding the doors open for everyone. It’s kinda creepy.”

 

Ryou smiled. “You should rent him out as a professional boyfriend for a week. You’d make so much money. Hell, I’d be your first customer - look at him - he’s so damn cute.”

 

“I don’t think any amount of money would be worth it to him to agree to that. I’m paying him in steak and blow-jobs, not cash.”

 

Ryou giggled, hiding his mouth behind his hand. “He can get both those things on his own easy enough. I think he’s doing this for you because he wuvs you, Marik.”

 

“Please don’t let him hear you say that. He’ll start screaming right here in the museum.”

 

“Yeah, you’re right. I should behave. I am working, officially.” Ryou stared at his watch. “Actually, I really should go and check on the new exhibit.” He gave Marik a brief hug. “Please don’t let the week pass up without dragging him to the zoo and to the movies.” Ryou gave a playful slap to Marik’s arm. “And share a mug of cocoa with him. This is your only chance to ever have Bakura behave in your life - make him suffer.”  

 

“I’ll try.” Marik smirked, but he couldn’t help but remember how wonderful Bakura’s lips had felt against his back the night before.

 

“Later, Bakura!”

 

Bakura grunted as Ryou left, but Ryou smiled as if he’d been hugged. It made Marik smile, too. He and Ryou were probably the only two people in the world that understood Bakura enough not to be offended by him. Marik wandered over to where Bakura stood, holding his shoulders and peeking over one of them to look at the screen.

 

“‘Bout to beat my highscore,” Bakura muttered.

 

Marik watched in silence, knowing better than to interrupt at that moment. He closed his eyes, inhaling Bakura’s cologne. He never wore scents before, and Marik loved his natural smell, like heat and sand, like an Egyptian thief that somehow never left the desert, but that mixed with a top scent made Marik’s mind get lost in the aroma of orange bitters and coriander, black pepper and oak moss.

 

“Marik?” Bakura’s voice had a strange quality to it.

 

Marik broke out of his hypnosis, realizing he’d been nuzzling. Marik felt his cheeks flare up. Fuck, they were in public and he needed to watch what he did. “Bakura . . .” he whispered. “I feel like I’m going insane.”

 

“You too?” He smirked, sticking his phone in his pocket and giving Marik a smug look. “I’ll need a straightjacket by the end of this week.”

 

“Well . . . one down, six to go?”

 

“Ug, don’t remind me.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

They did end up going to the zoo, and the movies, and a few dumb tourist traps that seemed to entertain Ishizu for some reason. It was easier to act in public, they didn’t have to answer anything too personal with other people nearby.

 

But the stress of the week wore Marik down. He walked around with a fake smile on his face while his skull throbbed, and - although Bakura also smiled and acted rather pleasant, at least as pleasant as Bakura could act - Marik had the feeling that Bakura was having anxiety attacks. His eyes kept darting around the room, usually trying to land on anything except Marik, and if no one was around and Marik rested his hand on Bakura’s shoulder, Bakura would jerk as if electrocuted. The most suspicious thing Bakura did, was going straight to sleep the second Ishizu and Rishid turned in, claiming to be tired even when Marik suggested they sneak back into the maintenance room for another quicky.

 

Which was bad on the second night, because Marik really really wanted to fuck Bakura again, and almost unbearable on the third night.

 

So, on the fourth night, as Bakura lay curled on his side in an old pair of pajamas from Ryou, Marik couldn’t help but slip his hand beneath Bakura’s shirt and feel the smooth skin stretching over Bakura’s stomach.

 

Bakura flinched as if burned. “Marik.” He rolled on his stomach and out of Marik’s reach. “I’m exhausted.”

 

Marik bit his lip and held his breath, balls aching. “Bakura, what’s wrong?”

 

“What’s wrong? Are you fucking stupid? I’m spending all day long smiling and being nice - that’s what’s wrong - and now I’m exhausted. Go to sleep.”

 

Marik scowled. It’s not like they’d never gone more than two nights without sex before. Marik was used to not getting laid when Ishizu visited, but each time he and Bakura sat together, held hands, whispered something snarky so Marik’s siblings wouldn’t hear, each time Marik caught a whiff of Bakura’s new cologne, and saw his hair pinned up, or caught him smiling at Marik when he thought Marik wasn’t looking, all those things made Marik ache to touch Bakura, to kiss him, to undress him slowly and bury himself in Bakura’s heat even as he buried his face in Bakura’s hair.

 

A physical whimper crept out of Marik’s mouth from his thoughts. He couldn’t take it. His blood raced through his body, pounded in his skull, and swelled his dick tight enough to burst if it didn’t find some relief in the sanctuary of Bakura’s body.

 

Frustrated, Marik grabbed Bakura and rolled him on his back.

 

“What the fuck, Marik?” Bakura gasped, eyes shining in the dim light of the room.

 

“I owe you a blow job.” Marik untied the drawstring holding Bakura’s pajama bottoms up.

 

“Here? Now?”

 

“You said at least one while they were over. I’m just fulfilling my half of the bargain.”

 

“Oh, yeah . . .” Bakura sighed, squirming a little, and Marik wondered what had Bakura so antsy. Surely he didn’t care if someone walked in - he’d probably think it was funny if it did happen.

 

Marik pulled down Bakura’s pants and boxers. For someone claiming to be tired, Bakura also looked tight enough to bust out of his casing. Marik blew hot breath on top of Bakura’s plump, swollen head. Bakura hitched up, gasping.

 

“M-marik, I can’t. I can’t. I’ll scream.”

 

“You better not. I’ll make you explain that yourself.” However, Marik did reach over Bakura and grab the remote, picking a random action film to give them somewhat of a noise buffer.

 

That done, Marik bent back down, propping Bakura’s hips up with a pillow and shoving his legs wide apart. Marik licked him, balls first, then down, down, down, until he was flicking his tongue against Bakura’s asshole.

 

Bakura grabbed the sheets, hyperventilating in his attempt not to moan or shout. The original plan was to draw the experience out, torture Bakura as much as Bakura had tortured Marik by making him wait so long, but Bakura sounded too desperate, and Marik felt ravenous in his own desire. His tongue trailed back up, mouth watering from the anticipation of tasting Bakura’s taut skin. Marik wrapped his lips around Bakura’s shaft and sucked. He stayed gentle, but even then Bakura tugged at Marik’s hair and scrunched up as if he were too sensitive to handle Marik’s lips.

 

“Nnngh.” Air huffed from Bakura's nostrils, and Marik's mouth filled with Bakura's taste.

 

Marik gasped himself when it was over. “Oh damn.  Oh damn, Bakura. Oh damn.”

 

Bakura looked at Marik, hair wrecked, eyes wild. “Do you have any of those packets left?”

 

Marik smirked. “Coat pocket.”

 

Bakura dashed across the living room and to the closet, pulling three small packets from Marik’s coat and racing back to him. Marik’s fingers fumbled with the little packets. He was too excited to function. Bakura stole the first one as Marik worked on opening the second, pouring the contents on Marik’s erection and working the lube along Marik’s skin.

 

Bakura climbed on top of Marik, setting the air mattress off balance and almost flipping it. They tumbled to the carpet, a mess of limbs, and torsos, and lips snatching quick, sloppy kisses as they tried not to moan. On the floor, it was easier for Bakura to crawl into Marik’s lap and shift his ass down over Marik’s cock. Their hips rolled, their rhythms fighting each other, but neither of them cared. He was inside Bakura. He was inside Bakura. Gods, yes, finally, he was back inside Bakura like he wanted to be for the last few days, and Bakura was dragging his fingers up and down Marik’s back, frantic to touch him.

 

Marik held his breath, wanting to scream but knowing he couldn’t. He leaned forward, causing Bakura to drop back, but Marik kept hold enough to ease his partner down onto the carpet and switch their positions so he could move faster.  

 

“Damn you, damn you, damn you,” Bakura swore into Marik’s ear.

 

Marik wasn’t sure if Bakura was mad that Marik had kept him awake, or mad that he couldn’t shout, but either way, his ragged breath and irritated words merely drove Marik closer to completion. After he did finish, Marik found himself staring down at Bakura, both of them panting. Marik lowered himself, hovering over Bakura for a moment. Then he dropped lower, pausing, dropping lower again. Bakura’s lips parted, as if expecting the kiss Marik was struggling not to give. Then he closed the last space between them, closing his eyes and allowing the feel of Bakura’s mouth to consume Marik’s world. Marik reached up, grazing his fingers through Bakura’s hair as they kissed.

 

It’s not that they never kissed, but they had never kissed quite like they were kissing at the moment. Their lips were pliable against one another’s, their tongues only gracing each other’s lips instead of plunging into each other’s mouths, and it was the first time they ever kissed after sleeping together.

 

“Shower,” Bakura murmured into Marik’s mouth.

 

Marik pushed himself up and extended a hand towards Bakura. They slipped back into their pants before sneaking down the hall and towards the bathroom. Bakura grabbed Marik’s shoulders, near shoving him towards the hot water. He lathered kisses across the wings carved into Marik’s shoulders. Marik pressed a hand to his mouth to stifle the moan trying to bubble up from his throat.

 

“Bakura? Are you okay?” Marik asked once her regained his composure.

 

“Why are you asking me stupid questions, Marik?”

 

Marik sighed. He wasn’t sure why, why it seemed off - the way Bakura’s fingers traced soft, delicate trails up and down Marik’s stomach as his lips soothed Marik’s back. It felt too real to be an act. Marik closed his eyes, sighing, his words barely audible. “Bakura, don’t stop.”

 

“I had no intentions of stopping.”

 

“I mean next week . . . the week after . . . don’t stop this.”

 

Bakura pulled back his lips, arms still around Marik’s body, but he stood back for a moment. Marik heard the smirk in his words. “We’ll see. Maybe after particularly good blowjobs I could . . . reward you like this.”

 

It was enough to allow Marik to relax, giving himself completely to Bakura.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They sat on the couch together, sort of cuddling. It was the sixth day, and they’d gotten along rather well since the other night. When they did bicker, there was laughter behind their arguing, and sometimes Marik would shove at Bakura’s shoulder, and the smile that drew on Bakura’s face was a little too involuntary to play off as part of his act. It made Marik’s chest flutter a bit, how easily they seemed to fit this role. He didn’t like the excessiveness of it. They hammed it up way too much for his sister, but Marik thought some of it was nice. Like the present moment, It was nothing they didn’t do all the time, hang out in the living room and have a random conversation, but instead of Bakura on the couch and Marik in his chair, they shared the couch, and that was a nice difference.

 

“When are they returning?” Bakura asked.

 

Rishid and Ishizu were back at the museum, but it was more of a business meeting than a social visit, so Marik and Bakura had the luxury of being alone for a few hours. “Before dinner.” Marik checked the time on his phone. “Half an hour, give or take.”

 

“Hmmm.” Bakura gave Marik a wicked, carnivorous grin before tackling him into the cushions.

 

Marik opened his mouth to protest, but Bakura’s tongue silenced him. Marik sucked in a breath through his nose and then sighed into the kiss. Yes, sharing the couch was definitely better. He slid his hands beneath Bakura’s shirt and held his hips as they made-out on the couch. Bakura’s fingers toyed with Marik’s shoulders.

 

Then they heard a click; Ishizu had a key to the apartment.

 

“Goddammit,” Bakura jumped off the couch with the dexterity of the tomb-raider he once was. He tugged his shirt back into place and vanished into the kitchen.

 

Marik didn’t even have to ask. He knew Bakura was making tea as an excuse to be by himself for a few extra minutes. Marik pushed himself to a seated position, wiping his mouth and smoothing down his hair even as they stepped inside. He crossed his legs to hide the forming bulge in his pants. Marik felt like a guilty teenager, which he supposed was exactly the case, but he’d never had a chance to experience that before, so it felt odd.

 

“Hey,” he said to clear his mind from his own thoughts.

 

Rishid nodded, sitting in the extra chair and read the newspaper he’d brought with him.

 

“Hello, Marik. Where’s Bakura?” Ishizu asked.

 

“In the kitchen.”

 

“Does he need help with anything?”

 

Marik sighed. Ishizu still didn’t understand that Bakura went in the kitchen to get away from her. “No, he’s just making tea.”  

 

Ishizu chuckled. “It still amazes me how different he is.”

 

“You only saw him around the Pharaoh,” Marik muttered, knowing it was a thin-ice conversation with her. To her, Pharaoh was still god.

 

“I still can’t imagine him being this nice before.”

 

Marik almost shouted at her. How would she know? She didn’t know anything about Bakura, and sure, he was faking pleasantries for Ishizu’s sake, but he wasn’t acting that much different. Instead of snorting and crossing his arms over his chest, he was holding Marik’s hand, instead of telling people to go the fuck away, he was making tea, but otherwise he was the exact same damn Bakura he always was. His outfits were the biggest difference.

 

“Oh, I ran into Yugi today at the museum.”

 

“That’s nice.” Marik forced himself to sound cheerful. Both Yugi and Atem were the only four letter words he and Bakura didn’t use in the house. They couldn’t forget their pasts, but it haunted them enough without picking at the scabs, so they stayed as far away from everyone (except Ryou) as they could.

 

“He’s having a party tonight and he invited all four of us to go.”

 

“Uh - I don’t think that’s a good idea, Ishizu,” Marik said. “You go and Bakura and I will stay home and catch a movie.”

 

“Don’t be silly, Marik. I already told him we’d all be there.”

 

There was a clink and then a muffled thud. Marik turned and saw the tea tray overturned on the carpet and tea seeping into the carpet.

 

“Fuck,” Bakura swore under his breath, bending down to pick up the mess.

 

Ishizu moved to help but Rishid stood up and intercepted her. “I have it, Ishizu. Why don’t you sit down?”

 

Bakura gave Rishid a quick flick of his eyes, a sort of thank you for acting as a buffer. Meanwhile, Marik swallowed. He didn’t want to pick an argument with his sister, but he had to draw the line somewhere. Bakura had dealt with a lot of crap over the last six days, and Marik couldn’t force Bakura to stare at the Pharaoh’s vessel and smile and pretend like the nightmares of fire and gold still didn’t torment him. It wasn’t right.

 

“Sorry, sister, but we’re not going.”

 

“But, Marik, why not?”

 

“It’s okay, Marik,” Bakura muttered, standing up with his ruined tea tray, and in that moment Marik wondered if perhaps he really was in love with Bakura. If Bakura was willing to subject himself a night at Yugi’s simply for Marik’s sake - then it didn’t really matter if Bakura could feel love like a normal person or if Zorc had somehow robbed him of that. Whatever Bakura did feel, whatever they had, it was enough, it was sufficient, it was more than whatever love was supposed to be.

 

Marik’s hands balled into fists. “Yeah, it will be okay, because you’re not going.”

 

“I said I would.” Bakura set the tea tray down on the coffee table as Rishid fetched a towel to sop up the spilt tea.

 

“And I say you won’t,” Marik answered.

 

“You’re not my boss. I can go if I want to.” Bakura stood in front of Marik, frowning and arguing for the sake of arguing.

 

Marik was no better, furrowing his brow at Bakura. “Bakura, enough. Enough, we both hate Yugi, and I’m not pretending otherwise.”

 

“Marik.” Ishizu’s mouth dropped. “How can you hate him? He helped save you.”

 

Marik frowned. “No. He didn’t. I forfeited the game. I helped them. Yugi and Atem fought against me.”

 

“But he helped you defeat you dark half.”

 

“No he didn’t. I’m the one that banished my alter ego. I mean, think about it Ishizu, had I not regained control of myself what do you think would have happened during my next turn with one life point left? Would the great Pharaoh have withheld his attack if he had a chance to win? No. No, he attacked Bakura with Slifer knowing it’d hurt Ryou - he would have done the same to me. I saved me, and I did it because Rishid helped me realized I was worth the effort of saving myself.” He turned his head back to Bakura. “The only person - the only damn person who ever fought beside me besides Rishid has been Bakura, and I’m not dragging him to the house of the vessel of his worst enemy.”

 

“No, Marik, he really was trying to help you. He-”

 

Marik shook his head, his hair flicking back and forth. “Ishizu, I know you think that, but please listen to what I’m saying. I don’t care what his intentions were. I don’t want to go over there, so I’m not going.”

 

“But Marik-”

 

“Ishizu, no!” Marik finally lost his temper and shouted. He winced as soon as he did it, seeing the fear in her eyes, seeing that his outburst made her think of Marik in the past. He ran his fingers through his hair, growling at himself. “Sorry. I’m sorry, but I need you to listen to what I’m saying, Ishizu.” Marik plopped down on the coffee table, staring at the teapot on its side on the tray beside him. The spout broke off when it hit the carpet, but everything else looked okay. Although, Marik suspected that he was only staring at the broken teapot because he didn’t want to face his sister with what he was going to say next. “Ishizu . . .”

 

She sat on the other end of the table, next to Marik. “Yeah?”

 

“I could go with you, and smile and pretend everything was perfect. I’m really good at that, but the whole time I would be seething inside. Does that make sense? You would think I was happy, but I’d be lying to make you happy.”

 

She nodded. “I understand what you’re saying . . . but why? Why didn’t you just tell me after Battle City?”

 

“I thought faking happy was better than upsetting you.” Marik shook his head again, “but I’m starting to realize that it’s just another way for me to be manipulative and avoid what I’m really feeling.”

 

Ishizu leaned over, wrapping both her arms around Marik. “Marik, I want you to be happy more than anything.”  

 

“I know.” Marik stood up to put some physical distance between him and his sister. He stared at Bakura and Rishid, both watching quietly, then he stared at his bare feet. “I know why you really came to visit. It wasn’t for a business meeting at the museum. You wanted to talk to me about marriage.”

 

Ishizu sighed. In the reflexion of the television screen Marik could see her stare at the floor in the same way he did. “It’s  . . . true. You turned nineteen last month. I thought we should at least broach the topic.” She looked up, blinking at the back of Marik’s head. “But . . . I can see that you really love Bakura, so . . .  there’s no real reason to talk about it anymore.”

 

“That’s the other problem.” Marik spun around, eyes only half raised at his sister as if they didn’t have to strength to look her full-on. “Bakura’s . . . not really my boyfriend.”

 

Ishizu looked confused. Marik seemed to have the effect on her. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

 

Bakura had a little, crooked smile on his face. “You idiot, she goes home tomorrow.”

 

Marik shrugged, smirking himself. “Ooops.” His expression sobered up when he had to look at his sister again. “The truth is, it was all an act to trick you because I knew if I told you we were, uh . . . together, but not in love, you’d drag me out the door and back to Egypt to meet every marriageable girl in Egypt.”

 

Ishizu chuckled. “You’re right. I might have, but-” she shook her head. “You’re both idiots if you think you’re not in love.”  

 

Bakura dropped into the chair, slinging his legs over the chair arm, crossing his arms over his chest, and rolling his eyes. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Ishizu. I never really cared what you thought anyway.”

 

“No, but you cared what Marik thought enough to put on quite the show, didn’t you? Seems a little excessive for someone you consider to be nothing more than a booty call.”

 

Marik frowned at the term, wondering where Ishizu even heard the phrase.

 

Bakura bristled at her words. “I never implied he was nothing more than a fling, so fuck you.” Bakura stood up, hands balled into fists. “Maybe we don’t go on moonlit walks, or to the movies, maybe we don’t hold hands or share desserts, but dammit we understand each other, and that’s better than what some people who think they’re in love actual have.” Bakura jerked the teatray off of the table and carried it to the kitchen.

 

Marik smiled, staring at the kitchen door.

 

Ishizu sighed in exasperation. “Honestly, you two are hopeless.”

 

Rishid grinned, patting Marik on his shoulder and taking Ishizu’s hands to help her stand. “Come on, Ishizu. Let’s go out for dinner tonight and then go to Yugi’s party.” He nodded at Marik. “We’ll be out late, so don’t wait up for us, Marik.”  

 

“Um . . . I’m sorry, that we’re not going.”

 

Ishizu smiled at him. “I’ll just tell everyone you’re on a date with your boyfriend.”  

 

Marik laughed. “I don’t think Bakura will like that.”

 

“Oh? That’s a shame. I’m going to say it anyway.”

 

Bakura burst through the kitchen door, dramatic as always. “Then you can also tell that pip-squeak-son-of-a-pharaoh’s-whore that I hope he chokes on his hor d’oeuvres.”  

 

“Yes, I will tell him you said hi.” Ishizu kept the smile on her face as she donned her coat and gloves and she and Rishid left to find a restaurant.

 

When the were gone, Marik smirked at him. “You quoted me.”

 

Bakura snorted, crossing his arms over his chest again. “I’m a thief. I steal things, gold, souls, words, whatever suits me.”

 

Marik took three steps closer. “Yeah? And what suits you right now?”

 

Bakura’s lips curled upward. He grabbed Marik’s hand and dragged him towards the bedroom.

 

“Wait? Why the bedroom? They still have to sleep in our bed one more night.”

 

“We are fucking in our own room.” Bakura locked the door and slammed Marik against the wall, kissing Marik’s neck, and jaw, and earlobe. He gave Marik’s earring a playful flick with his tongue before drawing their lips together.

 

Marik chuckled. Bakura spoke of fucking, but his fingers gracing Marik’s back felt gentle, and his lips felt soft and warm. Their clothes came off quick enough, but once naked, they didn’t rush, running their hands along one another’s ribs and hips. They wandered, still embracing and kissing, towards the drawer where Marik had dumped several old tank tops to hide their bottle of lube.

 

He reversed their positions, Bakura pinned against the wall, and Marik sucking on his white throat. He prepped Bakura slowly, enjoying the drawn out moans enticed by his teasing. When Marik himself couldn’t stand it anymore, he hoisted Bakura up against the wall and swept his hips forward and upward, the lubrication allowed his cock to squeeze through Bakura’s entrance and disappear into his warmth.

 

“Mmph,” Bakura rested his head on Marik’s shoulder, holding onto his back with both arms and legs for balance as Marik swayed back and forth. “Marik,” Bakura whispered into Marik’s shoulder as Marik maneuvered in and out of Bakura’s body.

 

Marik’s heartbeat throbbed in his ears after hearing Bakura whisper his name. He sighed against Bakura’s hair, forcing himself to inhale again although his lungs felt weak. In that moment Marik realized something - maybe one day they would say they loved each other out loud. Maybe they never would. It didn’t matter. Because, whether it was love or something else, whatever this thing was that they had, this understanding, this bond, this closeness that wove their souls together - it was enough, it was sufficient, it was more than whatever love was supposed to be.

 

 


End file.
